Sunday Scribble - Tradition

Tradition is a hard word for me. Growing up the child of an alcoholic will do that do you. It brings up issues, shit that you have spent a lifetime pushing to the back of your mind...images you wish you could block out, spoken words you wish you didn't hear. Feelings of anger, resentment and regret that you've pretty much learned to control. Pretty much.

I'm in my 30's. This month my husband and I will celebrate our 15th anniversary. I have a college education, two beautiful children, and a big house. I work in a field I love. I've managed to put a half a continent between me and that little town I grew up in - where my father was a known drunk. Where my friends who worked at the pizza place downtown would see him staggering home.

Yet, every time I put up our Christmas tree, I think about a family tradition that my parents had. As my own husband - a good man- sets up the tree and strings the lights, as my boys go through the boxes and unwrap the ornaments - ooohing and ahhing- I think about how it went down in my parent's house. And, it makes me sad.

My father didn't have much interest in my mom, brother and me. He resented being asked to do things that would take him out of his chair in front of the tv and away from the forty ounce bottle of Oly. Every year, my mom would buy a tree and bring it home. She'd ask my dad to cut off the bottom and bring it in the house. He'd put it off until he was good and drunk - and he was a mean drunk - and then drag it in, swearing and muttering under his breath the whole time.

And they'd fight. They'd yell and then we'd decorate the tree without conversation, my father's tv show the only sound.

Every fucking year.

Until I left. I'm not sure how the holiday preparations went after that. I never asked.

I married young to a extraordinary man and we've built a good life together. Our boys see us fight, sure. But they will never see us drunk. They will never see us out of control. They will never be made to feel like they are a nuisance.

And, when they leave home and begin their own lives, come up with their own traditions, I pray that they will look back and remember. And smile.